


A Harpy in the Garden

by HoneyGrunge



Series: Geralt/Reader [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brass knuckles kink, Breeding, Choking, Dirty Talk, F/M, Gags, Mildly Dubious Consent, Muzzle Kink, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Smut, Switch Geralt, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Uncircumcised Penis, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyGrunge/pseuds/HoneyGrunge
Summary: Down on your luck and desperate for coin, your offer a passing Witcher your body in exchange for 5 marks. But there are many rumors about coupling with a Witcher, and any of them could be true...*The first chapter has a more dominant Geralt and the second a more submissive
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Geralt/Reader [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627726
Comments: 13
Kudos: 557
Collections: Explicit Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know jack shit about Witcher lore so the town name and everything else is made up lol. It's smut, what can I say?

You hadn’t mustered enough courage to approach him on the first night. He’d been in the far corner of the room, isolated and proud, never once glancing out into the commons. You knew who - well,  _ what  _ \- he was, and that men like him were not known for their compassion and generosity, according to the stories. Still, he was rich. Far richer and somewhat younger looking than any of the other men here, and  _ gods  _ you were starving. Ever since father died the month before all you had were scraps from the pig slops, not that you were complaining. Everyone here was poor, far too impoverished for luxuries. At least you earned three marks a week cleaning up the tavern. The godsforsaken town didn’t even have a brothel to employ women like you, women who had skills but nowhere to profit from them. You had no place else to go as Trathamshire was too expensive for someone who wasn't a merchant or already employed. There was nothing but pigs, of the animal and human varieties.

You’d been scared, studying his elegantly brutal side profile whilst you remembered the rumors whispered by your friends. “ _ Never fuck a Witcher _ ,” they’d said. “ _ When he’s done he’ll cut out your womb to strengthen his potions, steal your bones to feed his hellhounds. And if you’re not dead after that, he’ll chew up your soul and spit it back out for dessert. _ ”

Ridiculous, of course, but in your defense his sword and beauty  _ were  _ imposing enough to keep you behind the counter with your hunger and unpolished dishes.

You wondered if Witchers even partook in the pleasures of the flesh. The rumors varied: they were either hung like horses, blessed yet cursed by some monstrous blood deep in their lineage, or they had nothing at all, like the angels Brother Ferdinand believed in. Not to mention the whispers about deadly genitalia meant to mangle and terrorize rather than produce pleasure. At any rate, whatever kind of cock he had, perhaps you could fool him. Claim to have some harpy running about your garden, then show him your tits and rely on a man’s instincts. Then beg for coin and hope he didn’t just rape you for free. And if he preferred lovers of the masculine variety, well, that’s nothing a little tuck of the locks under a cap and bending over couldn’t fix, if he wasn’t picky.

But before you could talk yourself into it, before that last droplet of courage ignited the engine of your boldness, your chance was stolen. Abigail, the tavern keep’s daughter, was at his table, having captured the unguarded flag while you were distracted. At that angle you could see her, dipped down close, her grandmother’s locket spilling deep into her bosom and a tempting curl stroking his neck. And oh, did he  _ look _ . Her hand was on his thigh then as he tracked the pendant to its pleasant hiding spot. Those amber eyes of hellfire poisoned her right then and there, and fear stroked a frozen finger up your spine despite the anger. Yes, she’d beaten you, in more than one way. But gods, if the rumors were true...she didn’t deserve that, bitch as she was.

However, in just the span of two clean mugs she was walking away, a sour look on her face and an angry glint in her eye. Confusion, relief, and discouragement boiled up in your belly all at once. At least you still had a chance, but if he rejected a woman like  _ Abigail  _ he really must be abstinent, or a lover of men. She wasn’t just the prettiest girl in the town, she was the prettiest most people had ever seen. Everyone expected her to be married to some duke or knight soon, if only one would travel through this damned village for once.

“What are you staring at, impudent bitch?” she snarled, swinging wide and landing a solid hit against your right temple. You hadn’t noticed you were staring. Cursing yourself inwardly, you cringed against the blows and regretted the guaranteed loss of a mark off the week’s pay. Eventually she had her fill and stormed off, leaving you to re-polish two mugs that you had painted with your own blood. But that wasn’t the least of your worries.

He was gone. As was your hope.

  
  
  


Then came the second night. The tavern was just as empty as before: there were only vermin and the various illnesses they carried on their backs to keep you company. With nothing to polish you had settled for cleaning tables, remembering the silver-haired Witcher from the night before when you finally reached the corner booth. Giving it a quick wipe, you sighed, plunking the rag back down into the bucket of well water and turning on your heel.

“Thank you.”

The Witcher looked worse for wear, sporting more than one man’s share of claw marks across his chin and neck. His gaze was cool and disdainful, completely at odds with the polite greeting he had startled you with.

“Welcome, sir,” you whispered, losing all nerve and dropping your eyes. You shifted past him and hurried over to the bar, sucking in a deep breath and steeling yourself. The night before had been especially cold, not to mention that the farmer had caught you stealing from his slop bin and given you the beating of your fucking life. You had to take advantage of this, had to at least try. Who knew, maybe he would be more eager for a lay after a hard fight. So you quickly dried your hands and returned to his table only to find him counting his most recent commission.

“C-can I get you any ale? A venison steak, mayhaps?” Your voice was small, mousey and helpless against his statuesque presence.

At first he didn’t acknowledge you. He cinched the purse closed and slipped it into a pouch on his belt, then sat back and clasped his hands. While you waited you noted with a small frown that he didn’t smell quite as appealing as you had hoped.

“Steak, please,” he requested. His voice was so  _ deep _ , you couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like rumbling through your ribcage if your breast were pressed to his.

“‘Course, sir.” You waited but he didn’t add to the order, so you hemmed for a couple seconds before finally lunging into your plan.

“There’s a harpy in my garden, I can pay,” you blurted, cringing when his pale brows shifted upwards in the slightest hint of surprise. Fear gripped you when his golden eyes finally met yours.

_ Fuck _ , maybe he could read minds.

“I....,” you started, watching him stare expectantly. “I don’t actually have a harpy at my house,” you finished in a low murmur.

“Yes, I know. If there were I would have already found it.” He didn’t sound annoyed yet, at least there was that much.

“What I meant to ask was, are you in need of company tonight?”

There. It was over. At least you’d had the balls to  _ try  _ and get yourself enough extra coin for proper food, nobody could dub you a coward now.

He blinked and hummed a small note of acknowledgment.

“You can be as rough as you like, I’ll pay no mind. You can make me bleed if you want. I’ll do anything you like, just 5 marks. Cheaper than the girls at the brothel in Trathamshire down the road. I’ve not got crabs-”

“Yes.”

You stopped, taken aback by his decision.

“Yes?”

“Yes. Be at the inn, at sundown. Room 3.”

You left him alone after that, giddy yet terrified, stealing glances while he tucked into his dinner. He didn’t look your way again, not even when he left, but he did tip you a coin on the table.

Maybe this transaction wouldn’t end as badly as the rumors had warned.

  
  
  


You gritted your teeth as you made your way up the stairs, fighting the urge to hold your stomach as another pain of hunger gnawed through you. It was enough to leave you breathless. Apparently eating the scraps from the Witcher’s plate had only sharpened your hunger instead of curbing it. Once you reached the top of the steps you walked to the third door, struggling to remember the numbers Ms. Hoth had taught you before she left to teach at Trathamshire. Once you had decided that you were  _ probably  _ standing outside the third door, you gave it a brief knock and waited with your head down. Gods, something close by smelled  _ delicious _ . Something rich, like roasted meat and vegetables. You could almost cry it smelled so good. Heavy footsteps approached the door and it opened, revealing the Witcher still in his shiny dark leather.

“Come in,” he invited, stepping aside. The first thing you noticed was the roast chicken on his bedstand. You had to make an effort not to let your jaw drop and possibly offend him. Did he really have to eat that much food to sustain himself?

“I hope you like chicken, it seemed the safest choice,” he started, shutting and locking the door as you frowned.

“What?”

“The chicken. Most people like poultry,” he explained.

“.....it’s for me?”

“Yes.”

_ Food!!  _ your stomach screamed. Forgetting to thank him, you hesitantly reached out and grabbed one of the tender, still warm legs, looking over at him for approval.  _ Maybe it’s poisoned...maybe he gets off through death _ , you thought, scared.  _ Or maybe only happy wombs work for his potions and I’m to be slaughtered like a prize cow after he’s had his pleasure. _

Neither of the possibilities were enough to keep you from giving in.

He watched as you ate, which made you self conscious. You willed yourself to take smaller bites and try not to act uncouth, but it was a lost cause. Juice dribbled down your arms and into your sleeves; it dripped into your lap until you’d finished almost half of the roast. You hadn’t noticed him walking up until his surprisingly well-manicured hand pulled the platter across the stand and away from you.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you eat any more,” he warned, and you nodded. He was right, there would be no use in puking everything right back up.

“Drink?” he held out his ale and watched you sip, pulling it back up to his own pleasantly defined lips when you were done. Then, he sat the mug down and crossed over to you. Fuck, he was  _ gorgeous _ , but your fear still caused you to twitch backwards away from him. You expected him to simply push you back or over onto your belly, but instead he sat. He said nothing, simply reaching down to undo his belt while you waited. Your stomach churned again, but with a different hunger this time.

It had been a long while since you had slept with a man, and the effort of survival had killed any arousal before you were able to become troubled by it. A blush colored your cheeks when you caught sight of his pale abdominal skin, starkly contrasted against the black of his trousers. He grunted, slipping a massive hand down to ease himself out, and finally he was free.

“ _ Gods _ ,” you breathed, hands balling against your thighs. 

A well-groomed thatch of silvery pubic hair framed his pride, which was already half mast and jutting from the almost porcelain-white skin of his sculpted adonis belt. He hummed in relief and slipped a thumb across a prominent blue vein, drawing your attention upwards.  _ Satan’s glory _ was he thick! His fat shaft curved slightly downwards, a unique shape and quite unlike the cocks of the other men you’d been with. And oh, the  _ head _ . The ridge flared wide, softened by the pink-tipped foreskin that crowned the tip of his heavy cock. 

“Hm, I get that a lot,” he said. You looked up to see the faintest traces of a braggart’s smile on his chiseled face.  _ Men, _ you thought in exasperation, barely able to contain yourself.

“It’s so big,” you stupidly observed, unable to come up with anything else.

“Yes, well. If it’s too much I will not rape you and make you bleed, you have my word.”

Nodding, you reached over and took him into your hand. As soon as your skin met his you were rewarded with the tiniest of sighs. He leaned back almost imperceptibly, tracking you beneath heavy lidded eyes. You ducked your head down to meet his member, holding him steady at the base and flicking out your tongue to taste him. Your tongue swiped across the soft, velvety wrinkles of his foreskin and you noted with delight that he tasted  _ clean _ , fresh like roses, likely from a rosewater bath in preparation for your visit. The flower was quite rare in these parts, and you’d only been able to smell it once or twice in all your time on this earth. You realized with a smile that overall he smelled much nicer than before, like cedar as well as the rose.

The sexual starvation slammed into you full force now, fuelling your desire. You tightened your grip on him and pulled back, retracting his foreskin and lapping forcefully directly over his tip. He grunted, so you continued. He let out a deep exhalation as you sucked the fat head into your mouth and eased your other hand beneath his heavy balls. They rested against your wrist and you couldn’t help but imagine them swinging into you,  _ slapping  _ you while he took his pleasure from you forcefully. Your moan was involuntary and he knew it, according to the amused huff he let out next. As you struggled to fit yourself down past his head, a rogue hand found your bottom and cupped your cheek  _ hard _ .

“The kitten wants her milk,” he breathed, exciting you. You hadn’t expected him to be much of a talker based on his stern and withdrawn demeanor, but first appearances could be misleading.

You gasped as the warm calloused hand slipped down. He searched for the hem of your dress and yanked it up when you pulled your mouth off of him to whimper in need. His broad palm ghosted up the back of your thigh, pausing and pulling away ever so slightly when he reached your core. By now you were working him as hard as you could, almost gagging yourself and hoping your teeth weren’t interfering with his pleasure.

Suddenly, a thick finger was pushing into you, relentless, not stopping until he was filling you up to the knuckle. You cried out and he shoved his hand against you, gently curling his finger to rub into the sweet spot that made your toes curl and your upper lips tighten around his dick. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” you breathed, grabbing the fabric of his outfit into your fists as he withdrew his finger and slammed it right back in. If this was any indication of the treatment you would receive from his not-so-little Witcher, you may not be able to walk tomorrow. 

“Was that too much for you, kitten?” he rasped, keeping himself buried deep and grinding his palm against your slickening nether lips.

“More!” you gasped in return, choking on him when he suddenly sat up and slipped his other hand down to grasp your nipple. You  _ wailed _ , unable to help the noise when he rubbed the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger.

“I think that’s enough foreplay, hm? Do you think you’ve earned it, me taking you? Have you been good enough, little slut?”

He was worked up, just like he sounded, with his high cheekbones tinged pink and strong features faintly glowing with a sheen of sweat. 

“Fuck me, please,” you gasped, yelping when his hand shot up from your breast to grasp your throat and single-handedly lift you up off of himself. His grasp was firm but not brutal, squeezing you into submission as he pushed you over onto your back. His hands settled up around your throat and pulled at the neck of your dress, frustration evident in his brow as he struggled to figure it out. His eyes paused at the bruises covering your shoulders from the farmer's beating the night before. But he didn't ask, and didn't stare. Life was cruel, and he knew it.

“Damn dresses to hell,” he swore, pulling away to let you take over while he worked at his own clothing. You slipped off the dress and watched him, gasping when his broad chest was bared to you. 

You’d  _ never  _ seen a more beautiful man in your entire life.

“You’re like a god,” you praised, reaching out in awe to touch his chest. But he grabbed your wrist and pushed it up over your head, treating you to a withering glare.

“Did I give you permission, whore?” he hissed. He seemed to hesitate for a split second, possibly wondering if he should have asked before using insults as default dirty talk. So you gave him a smile to reassure him, which eased the crease in his brow.

“No,” you moaned, obediently keeping your hand above your head and watching while he pulled off the rest of his clothes. Then he was on top of you, his elbows settling on either side of your head and his hips rutting up into you before you even had a chance to wrap your legs around him. His slick, heavy cock slipped against your vulva and rubbed against your clit, eliciting an excited whine from deep within your throat. He tortured you like this for what seemed like an eternity, gyrating and grunting until you were sure there had to be a puddle beneath you. As soon as you were  _ almost  _ there he halted, reaching down to guide himself into your entrance. He leaned down, strands of his argent hair brushing your throat and face. His lips ghosted your ear and a warm exhale tickled your skin as he delivered his first order.

“ _ Scream. _ ”

And scream you did.

Pleasure and pain melded together to mix a delicious cocktail; you were lost in the resulting wave of stimulation. He wasn’t gentle now, thrusting deep and fast while pinning you down with his bulk. His grunts rumbled against you just like you had imagined in your filthy daydreams back at the tavern. It was like fucking a beast in human form.

“ _ Beg  _ for it, slut. Beg for my cum. Convince me that you are worthy of my essence,” he snarled, slowing to allow you a moment to gather you wits and catch a breath. “Say my name.  _ Geralt _ . Say it!”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. 

You begged until you could hardly breathe, panting out his name and sobbing from the intensity. You could barely see him through the tears, but he kept breeding you like the little bitch you were. His groin rubbed against your clit with every thrust, and it felt so good it almost burned. Gods, you couldn’t take it, the peak was closing in like a wolf, the pressure was just too much-

You bucked as you came, screaming his name again and raking your nails down his back while you lost all control. He groaned out loud for the first time at the sensation and slowed once your cries took on an edge of pain, dipping down to hum in approval against your sweaty, heaving breasts. 

“ _ Good girl _ ,” he whispered, letting you cling as long as you needed to gather yourself together. The haze cleared just enough for you to realize that he was still hard, still stretching you but restraining himself for your sake.

“You...you haven’t cum?” you asked, fearing that he had not found you as satisfactory as you might have hoped.

“No, my stamina is quite impressive,” he explained. He rolled off of you and his cock hit his belly with a wet slap as soon as it slipped out. “My mutations, you see.”

“Mmmmm,” you moaned, rolling with him and pressing your lips into a scar on his breast. He was riddled with them, some of them even close enough to his scrotum to look like botched castrations.

“I’ll do more for you, I want to. I want to feel you cum,” you offered, stroking one of the pink scars at the joining of his groin and thigh. You were sore but also aroused enough to go one more round, at  _ least _ .

“Who am I to stop a determined lady?” he snorted, slipping his hand down across your hip and tugging you up over him.

You quickly realized what he wanted and bit your lip as self consciousness overwhelmed you. He wanted to be  _ ridden _ . You’d never done that before, and you certainly weren’t eager to embarrass yourself in front of this beauty.

“....I’ve never-”

“Hush, just move,” he guided, placing a hand on either side of your waist and giving you a push-pull example to start off with. “Focus on the pleasure, do not be ashamed.”

You tried your best, bracing yourself against his pecs and digging your nails into his skin. It took a while to find a nice rhythm but he was doing his part, gently bucking his hips up to meet you on every backwards slide. You were grinding more than anything else, and he  _ loved  _ it. His breaths became more and more labored when you tried to rock harder, and he let out a small ‘ _ oh _ ’ once you began to bounce. There it was, the feeling of those heavy balls slapping against you, and it had a marked effect on him as well.

“ _ Kitten _ ,” he huffed, his grip tightening and his breaths dissolving into what could only described as a growl. He started fucking up into you, smirking when the pleasure made you turn into a rag doll against his chest. He fucked like a madman and his hands became vices, trapping you against his torso as he steeled himself against the temptation to release. He fucked until he felt the fluttering of your second climax massaging his cock, and only then did he finally let himself go. He was the embodiment of sin, sweaty and mussed with his thick-lashed eyes rolling back up into his head.

“ _ Fuhhh-huuuu-cckkkkkk _ ,” he hitched, freezing and arching up off the bed with you on top of him. You felt his orgasm thrumming deep inside you; you could feel every pulse of his release and reveled in the hot warmth filling you to the very brim. His seed spilled out around him and down onto the sheets, but it was his face you were focused on, not the volume of his semen. His face was twisted into a grimace of pleasure, but it only lasted a second or two before he relaxed and he was again in control of himself. It was such an honor to see a man like this at your mercy, even if for the blink of an eye. 

“Perfect,” he whispered. His head lolled over to one side and a strong arm came up to drape across your waist. You nuzzled up into his throat and wondered how long it would take him to push you off, but to your surprise he let you cuddle. 

“Are you hurt?”

“A little, but it’s...good. The best hurt.”

“Hm, good,” he answered. “Ah, and I should explain: I am unable to seed a woman, you do not have to fear bearing a child.”

“Oh, all right,” you murmured, then promptly passed out from exhaustion.

  
  
  


In the morning he was gone and you were alone in the room. Your lack of nutrition and sleep had knocked you out cold, cold enough to only vaguely remember strong hands tucking you back in after waking you. A clean dress lay at the foot of the bed, accompanied by a hefty leather purse and the rest of the chicken. Your womb was still intact, your bones were still in your body, and so far it felt like your soul wasn’t chewed to a paste. You sighed to yourself and stretched across the bed, squinting out of the window and smiling into the sunlight.

This wouldn’t be a walk of shame.

It would be a walk of  _ pride _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr and Twitter: Maedhros36
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! <333


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist adding a kinkier second chapter lol. Also just started playing witcher 3 so 👌👌👌

It was a blustery December morning, and you hadn’t yet opened up the tavern. The bread was baking and the stews were bubbling while you prepped the dining ware in advance for what you knew would likely be another busy night. Winter was deadly, to be sure, but for every inn and tavern it was precious: travelers would grow weary all the faster then drop in for some warmth and at the very least a pint of ale. But as for these icy mornings, nobody was up yet besides you and the innkeepers. Which is why it startled you so much to hear the abrupt knock just as you were about to pull the last batch of rye from the blazing oven.

You made your way over to the solid oak door and tried to glance out the window to catch a glimpse at whoever had disrupted your morning peace, but the blizzard and early hour darkness guaranteed that you saw nothing beyond the vague outlines of a fellow human.

“I’m not open yet,” you called through the wood, reluctant to unlock the latch with no witnesses in case your visitor happened to be a robber.

“Forgive me, the inn has no more room. I need a place for my horse and myself to wait until room is available,” a familiar voice returned.

You stared at the door, a thrill sizzling up your spine at the realization that it was  _ him _ . The passions that had transpired between you had taken place a mere five months ago, in August. You hadn’t expected a Witcher like him to cross paths with this tiny town ever again, let alone twice in one year. Nobody had posted any monsters’ bounties as far as you knew. What had brought him back?

You lifted the latch and swung the door open, greeting him with a tentative smile and cringing when the frigid air bit deep into your face. His shoulders were crusted with ice and snow; the substance appeared to even be hanging from his eyebrows from what you could see in the dim light of your lanterns. He was bloody too, the sanguine streaks long dried in stripes across his face and heavy furs. Upon recognizing you he seemed to startle, and sudden dread filled your chest at the prospect that he may not actually be happy to see you. You suspected that you were nowhere near the calibre that most of his lovers likely were.

“Ah,” he huffed, giving you a small smile and a nod of respect. “I hope you don’t mind if I board my horse up in the stable?” 

“No! No, of course not, please do,” you said, trying not to trip over your words and appear desperately overeager.

“Good, because I’ve already done so,” he sighed.

You moved aside to let him in then re-latched the door and hurried to the oven, pulling out the breads before they suffered too much longer in the heat. Geralt tossed his hood back and shook off some of the ice, sitting heavily at the bar and watching as you plated a roll up for him along with a few generous tabs of butter. He looked hungry yet still held up a gloved hand in protest when you slid it over to him.

“I’m afraid I cannot pay for amenities at the mome-” he started.

“You fed me for free, now let me do the same,” you interrupted, giving him a stern scowl and pouring some fresh water. He hesitated then tore off a chunk, glancing at you before going for the butter.

“Thank you.”

“So, what brings you this way? How did you not freeze to death? Any other man would have gotten frostbite at least if they looked like you had at my door.”

“Hm, my mutations, remember. And as for my reason, fucking ice giants and their accompanying sirens,” he muttered, tearing off a bite of the rye as if it were the very flesh of the creature he seemed to hate so much. “Bands of them have been wandering up this way, and two villages have already been destroyed. It’s not going very well. I had to call others to come help me, then I...decided to drop in.”

“Here? Why not Trathamshire? Their brothels are always fully stocked around this time of year.”

He cocked his head and squinted at you, trying to determine whether or not you were aiming to tease him.

“I don’t know any of the women at that brothel,” he explained, giving you a pointed look. "I prefer familiarity when I can get it." A blush crept up your cheeks as soon as you caught his meaning.

“You came to see  _ me _ ?”

“Hm, yes, if you'll have me. I wanted to see if that harpy was still terrorizing your garden, and take care of it for you.” A humorous glint shone in his eye and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mhm, and I’m sure something else will be terrorizing my  _ garden  _ soon enough,” you dared to flirt, bolder now than you’d been before since you knew his reason for visiting.

“Oh, I’m sure of it. So, may I ask why you’re here so early?” he inquired, finishing off the rye and gratefully accepting another.

“I own this place.”

“Really now?”

“It’s...a bit of a long story. But to put it short, Abigail finally met a knight and ran off to be married, her family following in tow. I bought this place in an auction with part of the coin you’d left me. And that’s that. Been running it for four months now.”

“I’m glad for you,” he said, sincere in his words. “I was...worried.”

The admission of care touched deeply. You remembered how Abigail had given you a wide berth after Geralt had left, and made the connection right there as he was watching.

“You told her not to mess with me, didn’t you?”

“Mhm, I pulled her aside and said I would set a curse on her to make her barren and ugly if she ever laid a hand on you again.”

“ _ You,  _ sir, are an angel,” you teased, and insisted that he finish a third roll before offering to take him up to your room. He polished it off and followed you up the stairs, waiting politely outside the door while you tidied up. You shoved another log into the fire and watched him pull off his furs and then his cloak, noting that he winced whenever he twisted his torso to the right.

“Are you all right?”

“Just some stubborn gashes, I’ll be fine soon,” he grunted, folding his clothes up and setting them in a neat pile at the foot of your bed.

“I already have a bath ready, let me go heat it,” you offered, heading into the bathroom and lighting the coals beneath the spacey tub. You’d drawn water earlier in the morning, but had been running a bit too late for a bath at that moment.

Geralt followed you and stood in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe and watching you prepare the salts and herbs for the soak.

“I apologize for interrupting your morning,” he said as you poured the concoction into the rapidly warming bath.

“Don’t, I’ll always delay my opening to catch up with an old friend,” you reassured, gesturing for him to come over. “Get in, I’ll help you with your hair.”

His hair was an utter mess, matted and tangled and crusted with blood. The gashes across the right side of his chest were halfway healed but still looked terrible. He had new scars as well now, fresher ones, marks that would have to be thoroughly caressed as soon as possible. But his body was still as beautiful as you remembered, remaining completely unchanged since that one amazing night. He slipped into the water and began scrubbing his arms with the sponge, settling back and relaxing against the edge to allow your gentle fingers to shampoo his hair. You massaged his scalp, letting your fingers slip down to rub his neck and shoulders until he let out a soft sigh of contentment. Then in a moment of boldness you slipped your own clothes off and slid into the tub with him, thanking the gods that it was big enough for the both of you. His eyes followed you as you adjusted yourself, finally settling on your breasts. A dark shroud of arousal slipped over his features and he hummed in approval.

“Let me,” you whispered, taking the sponge from him and trailing it down his chest, letting it disappear below the surface to find the treasure that lay hidden beneath the soapy swirls. His gaze narrowed and his inhuman eyes locked with yours as you slipped a hand up his thigh and teased a finger down his hardening length.

“It’s been too long for me, if we start I will not be able to stop,” he warned, reaching down and grabbing hold of your wrist.

“That’s what I was counting on,” you breathed, stroking him from base to tip and massaging his balls. He allowed you to pleasure him for a few minutes before he shifted, reaching over to slip his own fingers down to return the favor. You straddled his thigh and ground down onto his skilled digits, gasping when his other hand pulled you closer. His surprisingly soft lips met the tender skin of your throat and kissed, the gentle touch quickly morphing into a more demanding suckle as he aimed to leave his mark on your flesh. His teeth nipped and you whimpered, jerking him off faster and earning a small growl. Your first orgasm took you almost by surprise, striking you a mere minute after he’d added his thumb to your clit to rub small spectacular circles into the sensitive nub.

“ _ Oh, Geralt! _ ” you cried, the exclamation rising in pitch when his lips then lowered to one of your breasts and latched onto a nipple. 

“You’re so lovely,” he whispered after releasing your breast from his mouth. You kept working him but he gently moved your hands away, taking up the sponge again to hurriedly clean what had been missed before. You stepped out and dried off, pulling on a soft robe as he stood to rinse with a bucket of fresh water. He dried in silence then turned to you, leaning in when you stood on your tiptoes for a kiss.

“Would you prefer to sleep before I bed you?” you murmured, assuming his reluctance to be from exhaustion.

“No, I didn’t want to spend any of my stamina too soon. I’d like to try something...new, if you’re willing.”

He walked over to one of his bags as he said this, squatting down to search for something. You sat on the edge of the bed and watched on in curiosity, appreciating this view of his ass and the exquisite, surprisingly trim cut and curve of his waist. He stood back up with something in his hand: a bundle that appeared to be wrapped in black cloth.

“What is it?”

“A muzzle,” he said, letting the cloth fall open and holding the shined black leather up to the light of the candles. The gag appeared to be form-fitting, designed to fit snugly into the shape of the human face. At first you assumed it was for you, but a closer look revealed that the lower half seemed unmistakably similar to his chin. Your assumption was proven correct in the next moment, when he reached up to hold it against his face.

“What say you?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled from the proximity of the gag.

You stood and walked over to him, pushing at his shoulder to get him to turn so that you could secure the mask. The bottom strap slipped beneath his chin, splitting into two sections to arc up over his occipitals and join the third, which passed over his forehead.

“I think we should have tried this last time,” you whispered, watching him turn to face you. The black material somehow intensified his gaze and the paleness of his skin; he looked far more intimidating now. You briefly wondered if you had what it would take to force him into the submission that he so obviously craved.

“Get on your knees,” you ordered, sitting on the bed once more and giving him the meanest glare you could muster.

He didn’t budge, instead opting to give you a defiant look. Anger flared in your chest; maybe this would work after all.

“I  _ said _ , on your KNEES!” you hissed, snapping your shin up to connect with his balls. He let out a sharp grunt and his startled breath whistled as it passed through the muzzle, but he didn’t buckle or fall. However, the warning had been sufficient to get him to obey, so he dropped to his knees and met your gaze with a sulking expression.

“Oh don’t give me that, you mutt,” you laugh, reaching out to grab the leash that you had overlooked before. You gave it a sharp tug and he tottered forward, hands shooting out to stop himself before his face smashed into your thigh.

“Did I say you could stop yourself, mongrel?” you yelled, grabbing his hair and shoving his face into your thigh. “Now. Take hold of your cock with one hand.”

He obeyed, huffing against the gag.

“Use your other hand to pleasure me.”

He shuffled a bit closer, spreading his legs further so you could clearly see his heavy cock as he palmed it. A string of precum slowly dripped down from the tip when he gave himself a strong squeeze; it was all you could do not to moan and break your concentration. A finger slipped into you without warning, going for the kill as soon as it was fully inserted.

“Good boy,” you breathed, loosening your grip on his hair and rewarding him by gently running your fingers through his wet locks. He let out a ragged moan, face sliding up further to push into your abdomen. You glanced down and noticed that his cockhead was already an angry shade of reddish purple.

“So much for the famed Witcher stamina,” you teased, moving your leg over to press it against his groin. He groaned out a muffled curse at the stimulation, slipping his hand behind your calf and beginning to rut against you.

“Look at that, big strong Witcher humping my leg like a disgusting animal. Tell me, are you going to cum? Going to cum on my leg like a useless dog before I’ve even had my pleasure? How pathetic,” you scowled, pausing to check his expression to make sure you hadn’t crossed any boundaries. He looked positively delighted: his expression was slack and his eyes were heavy, fluttering to look up at you as a sliver of drool escaped the confines of his muzzle.

“Gods, such a waste. Such a handsome man disappointing a lady, what’s the use of those looks if you can’t even keep from cumming too soon?”

You felt extra warmth against your leg just as his hips faltered. He let out a loud groan and arched, gagging when you yanked at the collar to pull him closer. His cum cooled as it dripped down your shin and foot, puddling beneath you and filling the room with the sharp scent of his release.

“Useless,” you scoffed, but your orgasm was fast approaching. He had doubled his efforts while you were distracted. Your toes curled and you gritted your teeth, reaching down to hold his wrist and pin it down right where you wanted.

_ Just  _ when you’d reached the precipice he ripped his hand away and you were slammed backwards into the mattress, choking against the hand that gripped tightly about your throat until you could barely wheeze. But you weren’t afraid; in fact, the light strangulation almost sent you into your orgasm right then and there.

Geralt didn’t move to take off the muzzle so you moved quickly, trying to drag him down on top of yourself for some sorely needed penetration. But he resisted, grunting against your efforts until you reached down to pinch the foreskin of his still rock hard dick. He  _ yelped _ in pain, jolting away from you. You suspected it was an intentional overreaction on his part for your own pleasure, but it still went right down to your desperate core. His grip loosened around your throat and you took advantage of the air to give your second order.

“ _ Fuck me _ !” you yelled, yanking on the leash one last time before he gave in and collapsed on top of you. He released your throat and reached down to steady himself at your entrance, panting against the handsome leather and thrusting into your silky comfort in one fluid move. Your face was level with his chest so you nuzzled up into his skin, unable to help your cries of ecstasy. He was fucking you even rougher than before, almost a berserker in his desperation while he tore his pleasure from you and followed your order. It hurt, yes, but he had been careful to stretch you on three of his thick fingers, so the pain was quickly banished to the background as your orgasm bloomed deep between your thighs.

“I’m cumming!!” you screamed. Geralt stopped, pulling himself out and earning a frustrated yell in return. He smirked beneath the mask and reached for the cloth that had hidden the gag, pulling out something silver. He slipped it over his knuckles and you realized with a start that it was brass knuckles. Well, silver knuckles. He held his fist out towards your mouth and nudged the metal knuckles against your lips. You eagerly bit down on the offered weapon as your thwarted pleasure surged forward anew. He rutted back into you and resumed the fucking, shoving the silver weapon deeper into your mouth until it cut into your lips. You bit back defiantly in return, squeezing your eyes closed and screaming around his fist when he reached down to rub your clit with his free hand. Geralt himself let out something that was half scream, half groan as his eyes rolled back just like last time, his loss of control sending you soaring over the edge of the plateau into your strongest climax yet. His massive hand abandoned your clit to reach up and join his other hand up top, grasping your throat in a choke hold. You struggled to let out a sob of pleasure, attempting and failing to cry his name as his own bass voice rose to yell out his second peak. His cock twitched deep inside you, flooding you with his warmth. His strength seemed to drain out with it; he sighed and slumped against you, rolling away to avoid crushing you beneath his muscular weight.

“That...was....amazing,” you gasped, glancing over to watch him lazily nod in agreement. You draped yourself over him and snuggled, just like last time, not caring that you were at least thirty minutes late to open the tavern. After a while Geralt gently encouraged you to sit up, following suit himself and reaching up to undo the muzzle gag. He flexed his jaw when it slid off, reaching up to rub a spot where the strap loop had bitten into his alabaster skin. A few droplets of blood seemed to have escaped his chest wounds but he paid them no mind, too distracted with the afterglow of your passionate sex.

“Hm, sorry to cut the fun short, but gods that stew smells delicious.”

The rich smell had indeed permeated the entire tavern. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled and he gave you a sheepish look, which you could only greet with a smile. He got up to find a washcloth in the tub then returned to clean your messes before pulling a simple grey robe out of his bag to cover his nakedness. Then, he set the knuckles and mask aside for cleaning. You led him back downstairs where he consumed three entire bowls of the stew, his amber eyes finally growing sleepy halfway through the third bowl.

“So,” you started, leaning over the counter, “why  _ did _ you cum so fast this time?”

He shot you a withering yet playful glare, then rolled his eyes.

“I already told you, it’s been a while,” he grumbled.

“Well, whatever the reason you’re free to stay as long as you need to,” you offered. He looked up and smirked, taking a sip of his ale.

“They do say it’s always good to keep a guard dog around.” 


End file.
